A Request
by Firestar9mm
Summary: Part of this was written while waiting in line for Madonna tickets at 4 a.m. I plead for feedback.


A Request  
  
"Why do you keep these?" she asked, running fingers lightly over the hourglasses (those that remained after a certain attack by a psychotic kitten) that graced his desk.   
He scowled; she asked too many questions and was completely ignoring the rule: Nobody may touch Roger's desk but him.  
"Do they not upset you?" she continued. "They are constant reminders of the fact that time is forever slipping further and further away from you, with no way to stop it. They are beautifully crafted reminders of your mortality."  
He scowled even more fiercely. She never overlooked an opportunity to remind him that she was perfect and he was not, when actually he found her rather imperfect. That was, if she was trying to pass for human, which she was, as anyone could see by her tireless mimicking of him.  
"Don't you have work to do?" he asked pointedly, walking past her. He wanted to remind her that she was in the house at his convenience. She was only a doll.   
Of course, the question here was who was the real puppet master.  
  
He found his thoughts wandering first to the hourglasses, then to her words, that evening. He was at the time lying in bed, silk pajama top unbuttoned and framing his chest, staring at the ceiling.  
He wondered what the hourglasses meant to her, she who would never die. What would that be like for her? Some day his hair would gray, his stance stoop. Some day he would die, and she would still look as fresh and young as she did now...  
The full horror of Dorothy's situation had never hit him quite the way it did now. The world would spin and drag everyone along with it, Roger and Angel and even poor Beck Gold and all, but R. Dorothy Wayneright would forever stay the same. She would be forced to watch everyone change, while she herself remained unchanged.  
He found himself sitting up in bed, slightly sick from the thought of it. He shook his head. A drink. He needed a drink.  
Getting up and opening the door, he was more surprised than anything else to find her on the other side of it, hand raised in preparation to knock.  
"Dorothy!"  
"I am sorry. I meant only to ask you a question. I will go." She turned away.  
"No, wait," he said suddenly. "What's your question?"  
She shifted her eyes from the left to the right, mulling it over. "No. Forget it."  
He frowned slightly. "What?"  
"You will not answer. You will laugh."  
He sighed. "Dorothy, I won't laugh."  
"Yes, you will. You laugh at everything I ask."  
"I do-" He'd been prepared to deny it, but reconsidered. He did find a lot of her questions amusing. He switched quickly to a soothing tone. "Dorothy, I promise I will not laugh at you. You can ask me the question."  
Instead of keeping her usual ramrod-straight posture, she crossed one leg behind the other. It was almost as if she were shy. A cautious speaker's stance. A very human stance.  
"Tell me, Roger Smith" and he knew it was serious, for she always said his full name when she was serious.  
"Tell me, Roger Smith...What is it like...what is it like...making love?"  
She rushed the end of it, again like she was shy. Her unfathomable black eyes glittered in the light, awaiting his answer.  
He was silent. What a question.  
"Do you not remember?" she asked, tilting her head questioningly, catlike.  
"I remember," he said slowly. "It's just...that's not something that's so easy to explain." Why was it that only she could make him tongue-tied and nervous? He had been a ladies' man all his life. It was only when he was with Dorothy that he was awkward. Maybe it was a hint.  
"Oh." She looked down at her black shoes, then back up. "Would you be able to show me then?"  
Roger was silent.  
"Oh. That was wrong of me. I will go-" Dorothy turned but he caught her wrist before he even realized what he was doing.  
"Dorothy-can you even do those kind of things?" he asked.  
She nodded. "I can perform all the personal functions of a human woman. And it is not pertinent to the task at hand, but I am double-jointed."  
"I'll ask you more about that later," he murmured, pulling her gently back towards him, through the doorway. "But you can?"  
"Yes."  
He looked at her face, for once rid of its usual dour expression and simply looking curious. She stood very still, eyes locked on him, as if patiently waiting for him to do something she wanted.  
He made his decision. "Then I'll show you."  
"My thanks. How do we begin?"  
He was trying not to laugh because he'd promised, but she was always so damn analytical.  
"Like this," he said simply, stroking the pads of his fingers along the synthetic skin of her pale cheek and leaning in to kiss her.  
She leaned in, closing her eyes of her own accord, and kissed back very gently, as if afraid to hurt him. He thought that was funny until he remembered how she had once almost crushed him to death.   
"What do you feel?" he asked when he pulled back.  
"Warmth. Pleasure." She seemed pleasantly surprised rather than analytical.  
"Why so surprised?" he asked.  
"I assumed humans only took part in these activities for the purpose of procreating. I did not know it was quite so pleasurable."  
"You'd be surprised at the measures people take to thwart procreation," he told her. "But the process itself is quite pleasurable, I assure you." He leaned in to capture her lips in another kiss.  
"You are adept at this," she murmured against his lips, rather a thrilling sensation.  
He was about to answer when he realized something. He drew back a little and asked, "Is your...heart pounding?"   
"My ersatz heartbeat increases when I am near to you," she explained. "I meant to ask you why."  
"I want to ask you why," he replied softly, placing a hand over her "heart" and feeling the beats chase one another. It might have been his imagination, but had it quickened when he placed his hand upon her breast?  
"I do not know why," she said. "Only that it does, and that you cause it."  
"Why me?"  
"I know not. Do you wish me to move away?"  
He could barely form responses. His mind had moved into a dreamlike haze. She was suddenly looking very beautiful. "No, come closer."  
She slid her hands tentatively across his chest. "Your heart is pounding as well," she said to him. "Do you not wish to continue?"  
"No, I want to continue," he said quickly, immediately damning himself as an idiot. Don't sound too desperate, Roger Smith.  
She looked up into his eyes. "Then I think we are wearing too many clothes."  
"You see, you understand already." He couldn't help but smirk a little as he began to unfasten her dress, which quickly became a very frustrating chore.  
"It sticks," she said, pushing his hand away. "There is a trick to it." She stepped back from him and with a small movement the dress was unfastened and soon pooling at her feet. She took off her shoes next, catching the heel of one on the toe of the other and sliding it off, then kicking off the other. She stood awaiting his reaction.  
"Roger Smith, why do you not say anything? Do I not please you?" There was an edge to her monotone that could have been interpreted as insecurity. A very human emotion.  
"You're beautiful, Dorothy." He said it softly, looking her over.  
"I feel you are sincere."  
"Believe me, I'm sincere." He took her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. In another very human gesture, she leaned against him (much as she had right before she'd nearly crushed him to death while under the influence of the accursed diadem). He stroked her back, trying not to disturb the safe feeling but desperate to touch her.  
"As you can see, everything is black," she added, and he laughed softly into her hair.  
"Yes, you've followed the rules perfectly. You are perfect."  
She slid her hands up his back to tug the silk pajama shirt off one shoulder. "You are rather perfect yourself, physically," she added, pulling the shirt off and discarding it.  
"Only physically?" he teased, reclining on the bed in an invitation for her to join him.  
"Well, you are what you are. But I believe I care for you the way you are. There is no need for you to change." She joined him, stroking her fingers in absent patterns across his chest, going so far as to tease the nipples before toying with the line of dark hair that vanished past the waist of his pants.  
He pulled her a little closer and laid his head upon her chest, listening to her ersatz heartbeat drum inside her chest. She ran a hand through his hair. "Yes?"  
"Yes." He reached around to her back and unhooked her black brassiere, drawing the straps off her shoulders and pressing light kisses to the skin as he divested her of the rest of her garments. "Does this synthetic skin feel anything, Dorothy?"  
"I can feel your kisses, if that is what you mean," she said. Her monotone voice sounded a little breathless, a neat trick for an android who didn't need to breathe. "I am feeling a little warm."  
"Warm?"  
"I told you, even I can sense temperature. Mere function. And now I am...warm..." She sighed. "The sensations are not unpleasant."  
"Oh good." Roger sighed almost musically as he took one small pink-tinted nub into his mouth and suckled very gently.  
She made some sound, squirming beneath him.  
"What?" he asked quickly, pulling back.  
She seemed at a loss for words, finally deciding on "Oh, do that!"  
He laughed softly, forgetting his promise. "Yes, you liked that?"  
She seemed briefly annoyed that he was forcing her to admit it, but did so. "Yes. Do that. I...I like that."  
He was all too happy to comply, kissing and licking delicately. And the android who wasn't human, who couldn't feel, squirmed and sighed and occasionally murmured something that sounded like his name.  
He kissed a wet trail down her stomach and paused, breath flowing along her skin.  
"Why do you stop?" she asked.  
He sat up, smirking slightly. She lay beneath him, her face a question, beautiful. He wanted her so badly he could taste her, roll her in his mouth like candy, but if she wanted to learn to make love she would have to learn about the male ego. He shrugged, which he knew she hated. "Didn't hear you say you were enjoying it."  
"You are a louse," she said, putting an unusual amount of vehemence into that one word.  
He smirked. "Well, that's not very nice."  
She rose up and pounced on him, pinning him beneath her, taking him completely by surprise. "I will make you want me, then. If you are going to be difficult then we shall do things my way."  
He laughed and tried to break her grip, but it was like trying to move a girl made of stone. She was too strong. "Dorothy! Dorothy, stop. I was only teasing you. Dorothy!"  
But she'd captured his lips with hers in a desperate kiss, one that turned into a slow open-mouthed kiss that touched things her hands couldn't. Those hands, at the moment, were reaching to divest him of the rest of his garments.  
So demanding. Her kisses were hard and sweet, burning like a flame that would slowly consume him till all that was left would be the taste of ashes in her mouth...  
And her hands, stroking, exploring, stirring. They traced circles around his nipples, toyed with that line of dark hair, finally traipsed lower. He couldn't hold back a groan when she tunneled her fingers around him.  
"Soft," she said in mild surprise. "But strong..." She stroked him, running her fingers idly over him.  
"Dorothy..."  
Her lips twitched upward in the barest imitation of a smirk. "Yes, you like that?" She was mocking him.  
He laughed softly, aching with want. "You win. Yes, do that."  
Eyes heavy-lidded with her triumph, she complied, kissing a line down his hard stomach and resting her cheek against it.   
Hand still stroking, she said in a softer voice than usual, "Shall I give you a kiss?"  
Even as she said it, she was doing it, pressing a soft kiss to his tip and eliciting another groan.  
"Dorothy."  
Her expression actually softened, and she lay down beside him, submissive. This time she did whisper. "Please."  
He shifted their positions so she was beneath him. "Hold on to me tight."  
She slid her arms around him, unsure at first of what pressure was adequate, what was close to bruising, what was too light. Finally she seemed comfortable.  
"Close your eyes," he commanded softly. She did so, and he kissed each closed eye in turn, moving to seal her lips in a kiss as they joined. The nails of one hand pressed into his shoulder. A very human gesture.  
"What do you feel?" he asked.  
"Warmth. Pleasure. And a need to hold onto you even more tightly."  
"Don't worry about hurting me." A kiss to the forehead.  
"Roger, I could hurt you very badly."  
"Will you just trust me?" A kiss to the tip of her nose.  
"I do."  
"Then close your eyes," he commanded again, finding his rhythm and feeling her match it.  
And she who could not feel, who had no emotions, whimpered and cried softly, murmured his name, pleaded for more. He found himself whispering little half-sentences of love in her ear.  
He felt complete. And human, like she wanted to feel. Alive, more alive than he had ever felt.  
One minute their lips were sealed in a kiss and he knew he was close to the edge; then he was over it and collapsing against her, completely forgetting to hold himself up. Luckily his weight wasn't a problem for her-she probably could have lifted him above her head with one hand, or spin him on one finger, or bench press a Toyota.  
She had both sets of nails pressed into his back. "Dear Roger-Oh Roger-ah!"  
The android's body was shuddering, squirming. Her synthetic skin was hot. He kissed the fevered forehead of his Dorothy. "My Dorothy, my love. Dear love."  
When she had enough breath to speak, she asked softly, "And now must we return to the sins of the city? To wearing black?"  
"No, not quite yet," he said, pulling her close. "We can stay a little longer. And when we must return, we do have each other. Remember that."  
"We have each other?" she asked, black eyes shimmering.  
"Always. Never forget that." He kissed the tip of her nose.  
They cuddled together, beneath the black sheets. Roger's gaze fell to a lone hourglass left on his night table.  
Maybe they are reminders of our mortality, he thought, but that's why you have to live life the way you want, because you only have so much time.  
"Roger?" Dorothy said, snuggled up close. "Thank you for answering my question."  
He laughed softly, lovingly. "I can honestly say it was my pleasure."  
"You are a louse," she repeated. "But I like you the way you are."  
Keeping one arm around her, he reached to turn over the hourglass, and fell into the arms of sleep before its sand ran out.  
  
********  
  
Finally finished. Okay, be gentle with me, it's my first time, if you know what I mean (I've never posted a story like this before). I plead for feedback.  



End file.
